Static
by Ladybrooklynn
Summary: Spencer has a serious, live-in girlfriend named Brea who loves him very much. However, his secret addiction to dilaudid paired with his secret affair with Maeve are tearing at their relationship. Will they be able to survive it?
1. 1

Spencer's phone blared through his ears as the ringing of a call was followed by the ping of a text, a second text, a third. When it began to ring again, Spencer pulled it from his pocket and shoved it deep inside the messenger bag he was rummaging through.

"Who's blowin' you up, pretty boy?" Morgan smirked as he entered the bathroom.

"Nobody," Spencer exhaled, standing in front of the mirror, irritated that someone had joined him in the restroom before he had found what he was looking for.

He waited anxiously for Morgan to leave the stall, his business in the bathroom requiring absolute privacy. Huffing at the amount of time passing, Spencer rushed into an unoccupied stall and locked the door. He fumbled through his bag as the phone inside it continued to ring, frantically searching for the needle buried in the mess of case files and court orders.

When he felt it's cold barrel on his fingertips, a desperate smile formed on his pouty lips. Pulling it from the bag, Spencer bit down on it, holding it in his mouth as his hands dove back into the bag in search of a vial filled with dilaudid. Instead, his hands kept finding his ringing phone and in a frantically annoyed rage, Spencer picked it up, answered the call, and shouted, "What?!" as the needle fell into his lap.

The voice on the phone shook as it escaped his girlfriend's lips, "S-Spencer?"

"What do you want, Brea?" He spat out quickly, exasperated breaths surrounding his words.

"What do I…" Brea paused, her worry forcing the confusion expressed in her voice to subside as she continued, "Spencer, where are you? It's almost midnight."

"Oh, is it?" he scoffed, "thanks, Brea. Thanks for letting me know what time it is. Now if you don't mind, I'm a little busy, and I'm getting sick of your never-ending phone calls. You think that if I didn't want to talk to you the first seven times that the eighth time will yield different results? The ninth? You know what repeating the same action over and over again and expecting different results is? It's insanity, Brea. And I don't have time for your insane phone calls and text messages. I'm busy right now."

"Spencer, what is going on with you? Why would you…" she bit her lower lip nervously as she tried to make sense of what was happening, "where are you?"

"I'll see you when I get home," he said coldly, immediately turning his phone off after ending the call.

"Hey, kid," Morgan called to him from the outside of the stalls, "you ok or–"

"You know what Morgan? Privacy would actually be really helpful right now, if it's not too much to ask."

Morgan's eyebrows raised, shocked at Spencer's attitude tonight. Rather than fight him, Morgan decided to give Spencer what he wanted– there was no point in wasting time in the restroom when he could be out on the dance floor, having a drink with any of the surplus of women at the club that night.

Hearing the door close, Spencer pulled the vial from his bag, inserted the needle into it, and pulled the plunger back.

His eyes looked down on it with desperate hunger, his lungs filling and emptying heavily in anticipation.

When he pressed the needle into his arm and forced the drug into his vein, Spencer exhaled an enormous breath of relief. Feeling the narcotic surge through his body, Spencer's mood lifted. His need for privacy fulfilled, Spender decided to leave the club and go home.

When he arrived, Spencer found Brea flipping through the channels on tv, her cheeks glistening with tears, her phone tossed to the side of their bed.

He bit his lip as he looked to the ground, unable to meet her gaze. Spencer hated it when it hurt Brea, and he liked to argue that it wasn't really him that did it– it was the drug, its grip on him, and his overwhelming need to hide it from her. If he didn't think she'd try to force him into quitting, Spencer never would've gone to the bar tonight; He could've just gone into the bathroom of their apartment.

"Are you going to tell me where you were?" Brea sniffled as she watched him stand motionless in the doorway.

"I, uh, I went out with Morgan,"

"You went out with Morgan? You went out where? To a bar?"

"A club," he corrected, his voice low as his eyes watched his feet.

"A club? You went out to a club with the world's biggest ladies' man without even telling me?"

"There's no reason to be angry," Spencer's body moved into the room but his eyes remained on the floor, "I didn't talk to anyone. I didn't even have a drink."

He sat on the edge of the bed, unable to look at her.

"Why weren't you answering my texts then? My calls? Why didn't you just tell me where you were going? Your work, what you do, if I don't hear from you, I get really worried. I don't understand why you couldn't have just texted me back."

"I'm sorry," he whispered, keeping his head down as he looked at her over his shoulder.

"Are we ok?" she asked concerned.

"Yeah," Spencer smiled slightly. "Yeah, we're ok."

Brea smiled and pulled the sheets back, the gesture welcoming Spencer into bed with her. As he laid back, he wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly, all the while imagining what it would be like if it were Maeve here with him instead.


	2. 2

Spencer's eyes opened the next morning to Brea asleep in his arms. Although he loved her, and loved the feeling of her safe inside his arms, Spencer knew he had to leave their bed. Quietly, he removed his arms from her body as he slid out of bed. It was Sunday. Sunday meant Maeve, and Maeve meant lying.

Spencer was tired of lying. He was sick of excuses. So many Sundays he'd come home with coffee from the shop down the street, telling Brea he'd left to get her their signature blend of caffeine and caramel, her favorite from their selection. Other times, Spencer would fake a phone call from JJ or Garcia, some crisis that required his eidetic memory and IQ of 187.

Lying didn't come naturally for Spencer. It wasn't something he'd ever really done much of in the past. However, his addiction and the secrecy he enacted to protect it taught him the art of omission, the ability to tell half truths, and how to hide things very well.

At first, the idea of keeping something from Brea frightened him, but after the sting of a needle became familiar to him, the secret became exciting. Now, he'd been doing it for so long, and about so many things, that it felt monotonous– a redundant repetition of one pointless lie after another. So, today, he just left.

Spencer had no intentions of returning with coffee or some poorly imagined conversation. Spencer was sick of it all and he was especially sick of Brea's constant nagging. He was a grown man and he decided that didn't need her permission to delight in one of life's many tempting vices, and he didn't need to concern himself with her disapproval of his decision to do so. Dilaudid had become his entire universe, encompassing every thought or feeling that was provoked inside of him… Until he met Maeve.

While writing articles for journals and scholarly magazines no longer interested him, Spencer had stumbled onto a compliment left on his article in the Journal of Behavioral Psyche, and became immediately drawn into its author.  
The woman, a geneticist, was named Maeve, and her prose was filled with clever thoughts and insightful analyses, scientific intelligence spilling onto his screen through each and every word left there by her.

Spencer knew right away that he had to meet this woman, he had to speak with her. When they'd finally exchanged numbers and he'd heard her voice for the first time, a rush of emotion surged through Spencer's body, one unlike anything he'd ever felt before.

At first, Spencer reasoned that it was purely an intellectual connection, that he couldn't be hurting Brea or his relationship with her if he was only drawn to someone for intelligent conversation. The problem was that Spencer had spent so much time learning to lie to others that he didn't realize that he'd also learned to lie to himself. He had connected with Maeve in a way that mirrored his connection with Brea, wanted her in ways that should have been kept exclusively for Brea, and longed to feel her touch him the way that only Brea did. When he'd finally accepted that his feelings for Maeve went beyond intellectual curiosity, Spencer quickly concluded that if his secret drug didn't hurt Brea, then a secret affair wouldn't either.

Every Sunday at 10 was an ongoing appointment for which Spencer would never be late. He'd never allow his need for a fix to prevent him from making his call, and he'd never allow his girlfriend to either. Maeve had become the one thing that dilaudid couldn't take priority over, her conversations filling him with the same high the narcotic did. So, instead of spending a lazy Sunday in bed with Brea, attempting to repair the damage done by the drug the previous night, Spencer left his home, and his girlfriend, to find a phone booth for his weekly call with Maeve.

As he held the phone in his hand, his fingers rushing over the buttons, the painfully annoying sound of his phone ringing interrupted him.

He breathed heavily through his nose as his lips curled in dismay. Just like last night, he was busy. And just like last night, he simply didn't have time for Brea and her continuous need to know what he was doing.

As the pay phone rang in his ear, Spencer turned off the phone that rang in his pocket. When Maeve finally answered, Spencer's exasperated breaths turned into light, calm ones. His frown grew into a smile. Maeve was the one thing that could alter his mood the way dilaudid did, and he no longer had any intentions of trying to hide either of them


	3. 3

Spencer walked back to the apartment he shared with Brea slowly, savoring the fleeting happiness left over from his phone call with Maeve. He knew that Brea would question him, he knew she'd be worried, upset, angry, one of those many emotions that Spencer was tired of experiencing. He tried to reason that she was out of line, overreacting. That she'd been suspicious and it was uncalled for. Deep down, he knew they were lies, that Brea had every right to be suspicious considering his actions, but he couldn't admit it to himself.

As he thought about the nearing conversation he'd be forced into having with her, Spencer wondered what Maeve would say if she were Brea. Would she have called him when she awoke alone? Would she have worried? Would she have been angry? Or instead would she know that she was the only reason Spencer got out of bed in the morning, that no matter what happened he loved her, that his mistakes didn't mean that she wasn't the most important person in the world to him? Because that's how he felt about Brea. Regardless of his addiction to dilaudid or his infatuation with Maeve, Spencer loved Brea more than anything. He knew that it was Brea that gave his life meaning and maybe he only hurt her because he knew that he could.

Spencer put his hand on his head and rubbed his eye with his palm. He stopped, looked around, and found a gas station… With a restroom. Thoughts and feelings surging through him, Spencer rushed into the bathroom, locked the door, and numbed the pain the only way he knew how.

The plunger pulled back, the barrel full of numbness, the sharp bevel touching his skin without yet breaking it, Spencer wondered if he was making the right choices. And he thought about Brea. Closing his eyes as he turned his head away from his arm, Spencer pushed the needle into his flesh and allowed the drug to take hold of him once more.

When he arrived home, Brea turned around from her seat at the kitchen island with a nervous smile on her face, hoping to see coffee or a new book in Spencer's hand, anything that would calm this feeling of overwhelming unease.

She didn't.

Spencer entered the room with his empty hands in his pockets, looking down.

"What's been going on with you, Spencer?" she asked, feeling the sting of approaching tears in her eyes. "Where have you been going? Why have you been so distant with me?"

His eyes fixed to the floor, Spencer walked to the opposite side of the island. He pulled out a chair, sat in it, and placed his hands on the table without ever moving his eyes from their downward position.

"Spencer, talk to me. Tell me what's going on," she pleaded, unsure of why he'd pulled so far away from her, "Could you at least look at me?"

As his head remained down, Spencer's eyes flashed upward to meet her stares.

"You don't think I'm owed any explanation? You've were gone last night, gone this morning. You're not taking my calls. You're biting my head off if I ask why. What is it? What's going on?"

He rose from the table slowly and walked to her. Taking her hands in his as he stood in front of her, Spencer's lip began to tremble as he stared at Brea's fingers interlocked with his.

She looked up at him in confusion. Hurt, nervous, worried, scared confusion. Tears spilling slowly from her eyes, her lips parted in worried understanding; Brea could only assume that he was leaving her, that their end had come.

"I love you, Brea," he said as his lips curled in an effort to prevent himself from crying.

Staring at him for what felt like an eternity, Brea watched him, waiting for him to say something, anything else, but his lips remained closed and his eyes remained on their hands.

"I'm sorry," he finally whispered as the tears began to form in his eyes.

Her brows furrowed as she swallowed harshly. She bit the inside of her lips as the tears rolled up inside her eyes and flooded them. Afraid to ask her question, Brea looked away from him momentarily to try to breathe. Finally, the shaking air inside her lungs breathed out the words, "you're… you're sorry? F-for what?"

Spencer's lips curled into themselves as his head turned downward. His eyes closed tightly as the tears that flooded them crashed around his feet on the ground.

"For everything," he whispered, "for everything I've done to you. For…" he looked up at her frightened. Hurt and worry filled his sympathetic eyes, "For lying to you."

Brea swallowed hard, the wetness of her mouth rolling down her throat like sand. She took a deep, sharp breath in as she accepted the hurtful truth that Spencer had something serious, painful, potentially heartbreaking to tell her. Her mind raced trying to pinpoint the lie, working effortlessly to figure it out for herself before she allowed him to blindside her with cold, unapologetic truth. When she thought of nothing, no hints, no signs, no suggestions, Brea's wandering eyes met his again.

"What did you…" Her breathing hitched as she spoke, her words catching in her throat, "When did you l-lie to me?"

Spencer gazed into her eyes solidly, trying to take in as much of the sight as possible.

Although he wanted to confess everything, lay his sins on the line and hope that Brea would help him rebuild, Spencer realized how very unlikely it was that she could forgive him. Momentarily, he reconsidered his confession, but he knew that he couldn't try to start over with Brea and build a happy life with her as long as he kept secrets from her. He was tired of secrets, he couldn't live the rest of his life trying to protect them, and he couldn't look into these deep blue eyes every day of his life knowing what he'd done. He knew that he couldn't recover from what he was about to say, but he knew that he had to say it. So, he stared into her eyes deeply, pensively, studiously, worried that she'd leave and he'd never again have the chance to gaze into their beauty, hoping that he could remember the exact color of blue that surrounded Brea's pupils and each of the flickering trails of various sparkling hues within it.

"Spencer," she spoked again, pleading with him for release from this torment, "w-when did you lie?"

Briefly his eyes hit the floor before looking back into hers. He inhaled deeply, his shaking lungs exhaling his entire spirit with the dreadful words he knew he had to speak.

"I've been lying…" he whispered, hurt spreading across his features, "I've been lying to you for months… About everything…"


	4. 4

Brea's eyes moved away from Spencer as her head turned. She inhaled heavily, tears spilling from her eyes and raining onto her cheeks. Her part lips curled and twisted trying to form words, but nothing came from them.

Spencer looked at her with worry. His flooded eyes studied her face as he watched the woman he loved begin to fall apart.

"Wh-what, um," Brea raised her hand to her lips briefly as her breathing hitched, "what do you mean everything?"

Spencer's eyes moved away from hers, unable to bear to the sight of so much pain in them. He looked down at their hands, still connected, and pulled them up to his lips.

Her brows furrowed in angry impatience as she attempted to pull her hands away from him. He held them tightly, looking up at her painfully as she tried to release herself from his embrace.

"What do you mean, Spencer?" she spoke unevenly, her lungs unable to pull oxygen in as smoothly as they should.

Spencer's lips fell in on themselves as he looked away. His brows pulled tightly together in a mixture of fear, hurt, and worry.

"A few months ago, I, I found an old box," although he sniffled, he resisted the urge to run his hand along his eyes and wipe away the fallen tears, fearing that when he let go of Brea's hands, he may never be able to feel them in his again, "there were some, uh, some vials in it," he brought his eyes back up to hers, "and I was going to just throw them away, but we had just gotten back from a case. A boy, a young boy died right in front of me and I couldn't– I had to escape from it."

"Vials, Spencer?" her eyebrows portrayed her simultaneous shock and anguish, "you've been, you've been using again?"

Spencer shook his yes as he bit his lip, nervously awaiting her response.

Her mouth opened in shock as she breathed unevenly through it. Her eyes wandered around the room as she connected his moods and his absences with the drug use.

"Spencer," she pulled her lower lip into her mouth, pausing to find the right words, "Spencer, how could you have not told me this until now? I, I could've tried to help you. I could've been there for you. The cases, you know that you can talk to me about anything. You, you didn't have to–"

"I know," he whispered through his tears, reapplying his tightened grip on her hands, "I know. I know that I shouldn't have started again. I worked so hard to get passed it, and I stayed away from it for so long. I, I just needed release,"

"From what?"

"From all of it. Everything. What everyone expects of me, and the things I see, I, I've just never been able to get those images out of my mind. But it can make me forget."

"But only for a little while. When you come down, everything is still here, exactly as it was. Reality is still here," she looked down briefly, "I'm still here."

She looked up at him, her eyes burning as they teared with the realization that dilaudid had taken Spencer away from her. He valued it more than he valued her, he prioritized it over her, and her hurt her repeatedly, unapologetically just to keep doing it.

"Do you, do you want to stop?" she asked, looking up at him with trepidation in her fearful eyes.

"Y-yes," Spencer's body trembled as her looked back into her eyes, "yes, that's, that's why I wanted to tell you."

She pulled one of her hands roughly, forcing it from Spencer grip. Worriedly he looked at her, afraid that the inevitable was happening, that Brea couldn't deal with the lies, the distance he'd created between them, or the addiction. Spencer feared that the moment he'd been dreading had come, that she was leaving him.

Instead, she raised her free hand to his cheek and gently brushed away his tears. Her other hand, remaining in his, squeezed his fingers tightly, protectively.

"Then we can get through this, Spencer," she said through her tears, "if you're committed to stopping, I'm committed to helping you."

He looked at her with pure amazement in his teary eyes as his parted lips sat open in awe of her. Bringing his free hand to hers on his cheek, he nestled further into her touch as regretful tears continued to spill from his eyes.

The easiest thing for Brea to do right now would be to leave. She didn't have to deal with his addiction, his secrecy, or the way he'd been treating her because of it, and Spencer knew that, but he also knew how much she loved him.

Looking at him now, Brea saw traces of the man she once knew, the man who didn't lie or keep secrets, the man who never hurt her, the man Spencer was before the drug took hold of him once more, flickering in his tearful eyes, breathing through his quivering lips. She decided willingly to be there for him while he fought through this, hoping that getting the real Spencer back in the end would make everything, every worry, every fear, every uneasy night spent alone, everything she'd been through in the last five months, worth it.

"You would, you would do that for me?" Spencer asked shakily.

"Of course I would, Spencer," she looked at him lovingly, "I would go to the ends of the earth for you. You don't have to go through anything alone. You know that. You know that I'm here to keep you safe, to try to take your pain away. We'll work through this together. You've done it before, I know that you can do it again."

The guilt he felt worsened. Its manifestation fell in torrent streams over his trembling lips. Spencer looked at her with momentary disbelief, and for the first time in a long time, with appreciation. He saw her compassion, her understanding, and her pure, unconditional love radiate through her eyes as he realized how foolish he'd been to take it all for granted. He had been taking her for granted. And Spencer vowed that he would never do it again.

He leaned into her and rested his forehead on hers. Bringing his hands to her cheeks, Spencer leaned down and brushed his trembling, tear-soaked lips across hers softly. When he pulled away, his hands immediately covered his eyes as he took a step back from her. Sobs spewed from his shaking lips as tears crashed down around him.

"Spencer," she said standing from the stool and putting her hands on his arms, "It's ok, Spencer."  
She wrapped her fingers around his wrists delicately as she placed his hands on her sides. Wrapping her arms around his neck, Brea pulled him into her and held him tightly. His sobbing worsened with each loving act she performed, the guilt becoming more and more unbearable for what he'd told her… And for what he hadn't. He brought his hands up to her back as his arms wrapped around her, his fingers grasped her shirt and held onto it desperately.

"Shh, Spencer," she breathed as she stroked his hair, "It's ok, love. I've got you. I've got you, and we're going to get through this. We'll get through it together, Spencer."

Her unbelievable amount of love for him overwhelmed Spencer. It had completely pushed the hurt she felt from his lie and the anger she felt from his relapse aside, allowing her to hold him, comfort him, and offer to help him fix the mess he'd created alone. Spencer savored the embrace, knowing that it's inevitable end was approaching. He knew that the conversation wasn't over, his confession only half admitted, and that he had to finish what he'd started before he could let himself become completely lost in her.

When he pulled away from her, she smiled up at him through the pained expression on her face. Brushing his tears away, she whispered, "it's ok, Spencer."

"No, it's not, Brea," he whispered as he cried.

"It is, Spencer. We're going to get through it. It's ok–"

"It's not, Brea," he said looking up at her, "it's not… because that isn't everything."

"Wh-what? What isn't everything?" her head shook slightly as she looked at him with worry.

"The dilaudid," he could see panic spread across her features as he spoke, but he knew he had to continue, "It's… It's not the only thing I've been lying to you about."


	5. 5

Brea brows tightened over weakened eyes. Her breathing became erratic as she pulled her lower lip into her teeth and bit down on it harshly. A faint whimper caught in her throat as she tried to speak.

"Wh-" Brea looked down, unable to form the words properly. "What… E-else?" she finally choked.

Spencer knew that his confession was inescapable, but as he looked at Brea, worry spreading across her features, he wished he could take back what he had just said, delay it for just a few more moments, savor the last little bit of their togetherness before the words flowed up from his throat and passed his lips. Now that they had, he realized that there were no more broken words, no more tears, no more desperate touches to delay the inevitable. He just wished he had stopped long enough to tell her that he loved her, that she was the most important person in the world to him, that she's the reason his life had meaning, but he didn't. He hadn't taken the time to look into her eyes and appreciate the way she looked at him, thinking he was an honest, pure, faithful man for the last time in their lives. He didn't pause to kiss the soft skin of her hand once more or brush his fingers through her long red hair one last time. As he slowly realized that he may never touch her again, he may never feel her arms around him or her lips against his, Spencer realized that the time had come. He couldn't take the words back and now she stood in front of him waiting to hear his next confession, to be hurt once more.

He raised his hand to her cheek, longing for some type of connection to remain between them when he told her where he'd been this morning. Instead, Brea jerked her head away from his approaching hand with deliberate violence. The worry in her eyes turning into anger. Spencer watched her expression change as the new emotion surged through her body and manifested on her face.

"What else, Spencer?" she said hastily, hostility dripping from her words as she spat them out. She stared at him as his cheeks glistened with newly cried tears, his parted lips breathing as if the words that were meant to flow from them couldn't. She had had enough. She'd been yelled at, ignored, left alone, and made to feel insignificant. She'd been lied to, had secrets kept from her, and now, now that she was willing to overlook all of it, forget about all the pain she'd felt in the last five months and help Spencer to recover from a relapse, now he had the nerve to tell her that there was more. He had the nerve to look her in the eyes and tell her that he'd kept another secret from her, that there was another impending heartbreak filling the void between them, that another lie was about to knock the air from her lungs, as if he hadn't put her through enough already.

"What else?" She spat for the third time.

Spencer exhaled heavily as he looked to the ground, fear encompassing him. His eyes looked up to her as his head remained downward, submissive, shy, and scared.

"I've been, um," his words shook as they exited his mouth, chopped into tiny imbalanced breaths, "I've been talking to a woman," he allowed himself to pause and study Brea's face. When she remained silent, he continued, "I've, um, I've never met her in person, but she, she commented on an article I had written and I replied. W-we started communicating through letters and emails, and eventually she'd given me her number. I, I wasn't going to… She just… She's a geneticist and I wanted to hear h-her thoughts on my headaches,"

Spencer watched Brea's eyes as they remained fixed on him. Her lips sat still as she watched him, waiting for him to continue. "I just, I started calling her more frequently. It, it became a weekly thing. Every Sunday. Every Sunday at, at 10. And, and when I'd come home with coffee or I'd say JJ called with a case, it was to cover up the fact that I'd been talking to Maeve. That's where I, that's where I went this morning. That's why I left… To call her. I, I thought I cared for her, that she was as important as the dilaudid, but I realized today, when I was sitting in a gas station bathroom with the needle in my arm that, that what I really care about is you."

Brea's brows remained tightly creased, her lips curled upward in disgust. Her flooded eyes never blinked as she stared at him.

"Brea, the only thing in this world I truly care about is you," sincerity poured from his lips, his pleading eyes glistened as he wore the guilt, anguish, and despair of his confession on his features. "I'm done with it. I'm done with all. No more lying, no more secrets, no more drugs or women. I want you. Brea, I just want you."

He inhaled a sharp, pained breath as he watched her, nervously anticipating her reaction. He looked at her eyes and waited to see streams of heartbreak fall from them. He watched her mouth and anticipated her swearing at him. A small part of him expected to feel a sudden, completely deserved, rush of physical pain as he looked to her hands which were slightly clenched.

He stood in front of her vulnerable– raw and wounded from his confessions and the pain it caused her. Wet, liquid anguish dripped from his eyes onto his cheeks as he stared at her, pleading for movement, for words, for a sign of her understanding, a hint of her thoughts, some trace of her emotions.

His words penetrated Brea's heart, coursed through her veins, and filled her mind with utter clarity. After what felt like an eternity to Spencer, she finally looked up at him. The tears she'd held in her eyes all evening seemed to stop forming, her parted lips closed but no expression clearly visible on them.

She took a small step closer to Spencer, who winced slightly at her approach, afraid that she was about to hit him, punch him in the mouth, or even kick him in the balls. He stood immobile in front of her, accepting his role as her target, her punching bag, knowing full well that he deserved whatever physical blow she was about to enact upon him.

Instead, her expressionless blue eyes looked into his as if she were looking through him. Peering into his eyes, it was at if she could see through him, see through his lies, his excuses. All of the bullshit that had fallen from his lips in the last 5 months now exposed, she broke their stare long enough to look to the ground briefly. Glancing back at him expressionless, Brea shifted her eyes away from his as she walked passed him, her shoulder brushing him slightly as she moved. It was the last, final, fleeting touch they shared– that they may ever share again– before Spencer heard the sound of their apartment door slamming shut behind him.


End file.
